Extinguished
by Descolbabe
Summary: "The fire I began is burning me alive…" Even one year after his fateful encounter with Targent, Desmond Sycamore is still dealing with the burns. A direct sequel to Forged in Fire.


"_Just think of all we can accomplish together!" The madman smiles as he reaches out to me._

_I back away, my terror rising within me. I cannot fight him. He is somehow too immense, to powerful. I feel like I am drowning, being swept under the current and unable to hold on._

"_Hershel," he calls out to me, invoking my birth name. "We could unravel the secrets of the Azran by the time you are twenty five!"_

"_But I don't want to!" I try to scream the words, but they come out as barely a whisper. "I don't want this! I just want my family back!" _

_Bronev's laughter fills the entire office, pounding in my ears and reverberating in my very bones. That mocking laugh shakes me to my core and I am powerless against it._

"_I am your family, Hershel!" His roar submerges me entirely and I can no longer breathe. "This is what you want!" _

"_NO!" _

_Everything changes when I find my voice again. A wild fire rushes through me, burning its way through my fingertips and evaporating the water that has been drowning me. _

"_Join me!" The words have no power now. Bronev is exactly what he looks like - a raving madman. He has no power against the inferno of my rage. Any chance he had evaporated when I stopped drowning and allowed myself to be set ablaze._

"_DIE!"_

_The flames erupts out of me, consuming everything in sight._

* * *

I gasp as a I wake up, bolting upright.

It takes me a moment to realize that I am safe in my bedroom, a whole country away from Leon Bronev. He cannot get to me here.

I wish that was what frightened me.

Turning as quietly as I can while still trembling, I see that I have not woken Mary. Thank God I married a heavy sleeper, I would hate for her to be constantly troubled by my nightmares. Yes, _constantly. _It's become a much more frequent problem in the past year than it has ever been before.

Slowly, I climb out of bed, trying not to jostle Mary awake. I'm more likely to wake her up if I stay here shaking than if I carefully leave now, and frankly I don't want to risk needing to talk about this again.

I can only lie for so long.

* * *

As I close my study door behind me I get out a key and lock it, then I make my way over to the window and draw the curtain, checking to make sure that the windows are locked as well. I'm not taking any chances, not tonight nor ever.

Quietly, I creep over to my desk and sit down behind it, opening my drawers in a seemingly random order. Top left for five seconds, bottom right for three, center for two seconds, and slide the middle left drawer all the way out, placing it on top of the desk.

To the average, unobservant person, there is nothing out of the ordinary about the middle left drawer, but the trained eye would notice that it is slightly shorter than the others. In fact, there is a secret panel hidden behind the drawer that can only be accessed after having opened the drawers in a particular order.

What can I say? I have never been able to resist a good puzzle.

Crouching down, I reach back to the hidden panel and open it using my key. Grabbing the sole object hidden in the secret panel, I pull it out and stare.

The half of the Ambrosian Crest stares right back at me.

It has been almost a year ever since my encounter with Targent, where I had to fight my way out of their base and escape through the desert. Almost a year, and I still don't know whether or not those guards I fought lived or died. I'm beginning to suspect that I will never know.

The brown stains on the stone catch my eye. I never had the chance to wash my blood off of the relic. I try not to think about how fitting that is.

_Let it go._ I try to tell myself. _It's over, Desmond. _

I am a very good liar, but I am unable to convince myself.

True, I have not encountered Targent again ever since the desert outside of Stansbury. Aside from moving to France and transferring out of Gressenheller, I have been able to carry on with my everyday life as per normal. I am still a student, an assistant teacher, and a husband. I should be happy.

And I would be, too, if this relic is not the only thing I brought back with me from the desert.

Leon Bronev is not what haunts my dreams, and Targent is not the terror that keeps me looking over my shoulder. No, I know that they cannot find me here as long as I am careful. It is not them that I fear.

No, I fear that I will let that fire consume me once again.

I feel the flames racing through my veins every night in my dreams. I remember the feeling of running, of fighting, of being ready to tear people apart with my bare hands and not giving it a second thought. I remember running until my feet bled - literally - and being so caught up in my rage and thirst for revenge that I didn't even notice it.

I remember _liking it._

Those guards… I did not even think to worry for them until long after I had left. I had wounded them so gravely, and it had made me feel good. Knowing that I might have killed them had made me feel _alive._

Chills run down my spine and I shudder violently, nearly dropping the relic in my hand. The thought of what I did, of what I am still capable of doing… it makes me sick to my stomach. My head spins at the memories and I cradle it in one hand, the other still clutching at the relic.

Why did I not get rid of this thing when I had the chance? It is nothing but a sore reminder of the destruction I caused. I wish I had done what I had told Mary that I had done a year ago and tossed this bloody piece of stone over the side of a bridge on my way back from the desert so that Targent could never find it.

It takes me a moment to realize that it is not too late to get rid of this blasted slab of stone. Granted, I may not have a bridge to toss it off of, but I _can _still destroy it.

Once the idea comes into my mind, it consumes me entirely. Yes, I will destroy this acursed relic once and for all. The weight it has placed in the back of my mind is to blame for all of the sufferings of the past year, all of the nightmares and the restless nights and the constant anxiety that someone will find it.

_Guilty._

It must be destroyed. I raise my hand, ready to toss it to the ground and break it. I need to destroy it once and for all, and with it destroy any memory of those horrible weeks. It all needs to die, right here and right now. It will crack when it hits the floor, I am sure. If it does not, then I will take a bloody picaxe to it again. It has to go.

_Guilty! Guilty!_

I prepare myself to throw it to the ground. It must pay. It must burn -

_No!_

My arm freezes when I realize what I am doing, and I cannot bring myself to harm the stone in my hand.

What am I becoming? How can I let myself fill with this rage, this desire to condemn and destroy? When did I allow myself to give in to hatred?

Sighing, I let go of my resolve. It is pointless. Destroying this piece of stone will not destroy my memories. If anything, it will only allow the fire inside of me to grow stronger.

_Besides, _I reason with myself. _Destroying it would have been loud anyway. You would have woken Mary. _

Even though I know that it is the right thing to do, I still find myself somewhat reluctant as I place the relic back into the secret panel and lock it up again. I try to ignore the part of me is displeased that I did not carry out my plans for destruction, to pretend that it doesn't even exist.

Once again, I find myself wishing that I were any good at lying to myself.

Pulling myself up onto my feet, I grab the drawer and slide it back into place again, concealing the hidden panel and my shame with it. My secret is safe. Not even Mary will know.

I will lock the truth away forever. It is better this way.

* * *

"...Desmond?"

Damn, I thought I had been careful enough climbing back into bed that I would not wake Mary. I freeze, hoping that she will go back to sleep. The last thing I need to do now is trouble her with any of this.

"Desmond, why are you up?" As she speaks, Mary turns to face me, her sleepy eyes filled with concern.

"...It's nothing, darling." My voice sounds a lot more sure than I am. "Go back to sleep."

She gives me a worried look for a moment, but ultimately concedes. "If you're sure, _mon amour._" she mumbles sleepily, closing her eyes once again.

Leaning in, I give her a small kiss on the forehead. "Of course I'm sure." I whisper. "Good night, my dear."

I do not know when I got so good at lying to Mary, but frankly, I regret it with every fiber of my being. Because now she cannot help to save me from myself.

Nothing can stop me from burning anymore.

* * *

**A/N: **Welcome back to the Forged in Fire verse!

This story falls directly between Forged in Fire, which just finished, and Fanning the Flames, which will start publishing next Thursday!

Also I had a 6:50am wake up call so my brain is not awake enough for authors notes. So... enjoy!


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